


I Take Flight

by chambermusic



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24439279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chambermusic/pseuds/chambermusic
Summary: A united Fodlan now seeks peace with Sreng, but the peace talks are rudely interrupted by an ancient demonic beast. Where Dimitri's view of the world gets challenged a little, Claude has something to confess, Lysithea believes for a change, and Sylvain, to everyone's surprise, is the only guy there to work.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	I Take Flight

**Author's Note:**

> The story later includes plot points that some may find gory. The descriptions will not be overt, but please feel free to reference end note for more details.

Huitzipotchl is a man of sturdy built and a dark face lined from years in the sun. He is also a gracious host to their raucous party. Sylvain had introduced him as a chieftain or a comparable political leader of the Srengi village currently hosting their peace talk. Despite palpable tension in the air, Huitzipotchl has accommodated the royal entourage of United Fodlan with much grace, especially when the group of Fodlandian scholars seems particularly intent on blowing everything up with their wild magical experimentations. 

"I'm not sure this is a good idea anymore," Sylvain looks to be visibly on edge. It has been years of effort for the new Margrave to make peaceful negotiation possible, yet the magic exchange program seems to be veering from control. They have all just instinctively ducked under the table at the sound of an explosion. Moments later, Lysithea's shouting can be heard even within the King's large tent.

"I fail to see what the problem is--she sounds practically peppy today." Claude, as always, appears to be the only person having a great day. 

"Yes, chirpy as a raccoon backed into a corner, and just as shy, too."

" _Haaaaarsh_. Who said Margrave Guatier is a lover of all ladies?"

"Don’t weasel out of this one, Your Illustrious Highness. Pretty sure you got this one all worked up from school."

Claude _winks_. Dimitri has no idea what Almyran courtly life is like, but Claude seems to enjoy himself greatly quibbling like schoolboys. Unfortunately, Sylvain has proven all too ready to meet that match. 

The Almyran royal house has been invited to the peace talks as a mediator to facilitate negotiations. Ever eager to improve Fodlan's relationship with the outside world, Claude, or as he is better known these days--King Khalid of Almyra--has graced the conference with his presence. The foreign monarch's royal tent is not far from Dimitri's own, though set up with plush, patterned textiles that runs the full-length top to bottom. It's guarded day-to-night by masked military, each dressed in the deep emerald of the Almyran royal house and armed with a bow, an ax, and twin curved swords. There are eight guards on duty at any given moment, and twenty stands ready to respond to emergencies. Twenty-eight more sleeps at the opposite end of the campsite, along with an active wyvern aerie, for the men to change shift at a different time each week. This, as Claude has told him, is a medium-small sized security for the king when he is on mediator duty.

Needless to say--Claude is a much different man these days. Not that Dimitri has ever doubted he would become an important political player given his natural brilliance, but the power and attention he now commands humbles even that of the one Fodlan monarch. Under his reign, foreign travelers have been allowed to explore much more of Almyra--from the golden dunes of the west to sunlit coast to the east, a seemingly shadowless realm enveloping the birthplace of the sun. A smarter man may stay vary of who he has become, yet Dimitri is not that man. In truth, he finds Claude dazzling to behold--at the negotiation table and during moments of levity between old friends--more so than ever.

It is rare, and all the more precious for it, to count Claude as a friend.

Another explosion rips through the air. Huitzipotchl stands and asks them to be ready to survey the damage.

Resident tents and community buildings in the Srengi village are erected around the elevated ritual platform in the middle, where offerings and sacrifices were made to the many gods of the land. After a demonstration of one's prowess, proficient magic-wielders--those "speak the Gods' language"--may enter the sacred ground to practice a variety of rituals ranging from the utmost holy to the mundane and clerical. Though if the Srengi study of the arcana does take the form of a language, it so far has mostly consisted of loud bangs and booms for Fodlan's warlock extraordinaire. Up to now, Lysithea only has busted laboratory vessels and burnt diagrams to show for it.

"--It's not even me this time," seeing their approach, Lysithea threw down the goggles she's been wearing, revealing a face flushed from the sun. Few things have changed about her since school, from her delicate physique to the way she wears her hair, though Lady Ordelia's bouts of anger are backed by increasingly creative promises of bodily injuries these days.

Tellingly, smoke billows from a pile underneath her feet.

"Gee, straight to the blaming, way ahead of me." Sylvain has clearly held a grudge.

"--WHAT do you want?"

"I don’t know, have you considered--treating this delicately? Need I remind you that magic is really closely connected to Srengi religious practice, and the priests and priestesses get A LOT of say around here?"

"If they don't want me poking and prodding at it, why allow me in here in the first place?"

"Would you please not speak so crudely of a delicate subject, especially not in front of our host?" Sylvain gestures at Huitzipotchl in what he must have believed to be subtle. Claude tries to clear his throat.

"WHAT? You don't get to tell me--"

"Oh--" A full head of red hair pokes out from at least twelve tomes of _Ollituem's Theorems of Magic and Other Subjects of the Arcane_ , "fire was put out. Not that delicate. I like her. I like her here. I'm sure Huitzipotchl agrees with the priesthood on this."

Huitzipotchl's face says otherwise, but he dutifully keeps his silence. Metla, the young village priestess, greets them with a wave of her hand. "The whole squad!" she offers.

"Indeed." Dimitri is eager to greet her with a smile, but she has already moved on to the next page in _Ollituem_. Metla has shown much open-mindedness to their diplomatic efforts. Perhaps she is dedicated to appearing neutral, or perhaps she has been young during much of the bloodsheds between Fargheus and Sreng. It is impossible for Dimitri to get a read, sometimes.

Claude, meanwhile, is smiling at him in a way he only reserves for adorable kittens.

Lysithea looks quite charmed. "I think you were just dismissed," she pointedly looks to Sylvain.

To save what's left of the Margrave's newly found self-worth, Claude cuts in: "If you would indulge the curiosity of complete amateurs--what appears to be the problem?"

"Well--" something tells Dimitri Lysithea has been _dying_ for the question. "It's _very_ complicated, and my current work-in-progress hypothesis involves the more obscure theories from Ollituem and Eichensehr. _But_ if I am to explain it in more _layman-friendly_ terms--" she looks to the three decidedly very unscholarly men in front of her, "I believe the current models of categorizing arcane sources as either that stemming from reason and that from faith--may be insufficient to describe its phenomenon. Perhaps it's a new energy source, or perhaps the medium it professes itself is so unique--"

"It's the Gods' language. You speak, the creation answers," Metla interrupts.

"…right, I'm a proficient user of magic, yet so far none of it has happened the way we expect it to."

"Sometimes there are offerings to the gods. I don't know what Gods want at every moment."

"MAGIC is just magic!" Lysithea throws up her hands.

"My point too," Metla sets down the tome she has holding, "your _dead man_ doesn't tell me what I don't already know."

"--If you're so sure, what would stop the explosions?"

"Like I learned this Fodlan tongue--you need to keep practicing!"

"SO you kept on saying, AND SO IT KEPT ON EXPLODING--"

"--Ladies, are you doing okay there?" asks Sylvain.

Two heads whip around at him. "--we're talking!" Lysithea seethes.

"My point too," Metla adds.

Just before Sylvain is going to call quits on the two lady menace he cannot hope to interrupt, the sound of a screeching howl rips through the camp with the force of thunder. There's no mistake that it's a beast's call, yet the sound feels terrifyingly human. For a moment, vibration can be felt from the earth beneath their feet. Before long, screams of terror can be heard from the aerie, where wyverns, half in flight, are desperately straining against their restraints in attempts to flee.

Dimitri and the rest of the group looks to each other. All of them have dropped into battle-ready stances, and Dimitri finds himself itching for Areadbhar's familiar touch.

"That was certainly not me," is the only thing Lysithea cares to comment on.

**Author's Note:**

> The story later will include mentions of human sacrifice as a religious practice. Proceed at your own risk.


End file.
